


A Quiet Reckoning

by impertinence



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 15:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10994100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impertinence/pseuds/impertinence
Summary: It took Costis awhile to understand what was happening, in their little cottage in Roa.





	A Quiet Reckoning

He did try not to notice.

It was only that he thought perhaps he shouldn't notice. In Attolia, it was obvious that Kamet had not learned to be free, and he also had not learned to talk to Attolians. He clearly thought he knew how: he missed the nonplussed looks and offense directed at his back when he corrected a soldier on his grammar, or a cook on her baking ratios.

Costis saw Aris twice before he left for Roa. The second time, Aris looked directly at him and said, "I'd ask how you stand it, but I suppose you're used to it by now."

He didn't mean that he and Kamet had traveled together for months. He meant all the time Costis had spent with the King. Costis said, "Yes," and didn't elaborate.

He didn't know - never knew - if Aris had meant to imply Costis was drawn to Kamet as he had been to the King. It was true, at any rate. Kamet, with all of his pride and snooty manners, reminded Costis of a desert cactus in full flower: he wanted to touch, even if he knew it would hurt him later.

He didn't go with Kamet to Roa because he thought Kamet might reciprocate those feelings. But he had thought he was accompanying a friend. A fortnight into their trip, when Kamet snapped, "You might as well make yourself useful and stop staring," it occurred to Costis that he may have been wrong.

Kamet sat by the river, halfway through the washing. It was a task that Costis was well familiar with, and had offered to do; Kamet had told him to do the mending, that he was perfectly capable of washing clothes.

He had taken his shirt off some time ago. His back, less bony now but still with knobby bits visible, gleamed in the sunlight. He had the right of it; Costis had been staring. He had been staring a lot, and for some time. 

He said, "My apologies. You're doing a good job." He had no idea how well Kamet was doing.

For some reason, that attempt at peacemaking made Kamet's face twist even more, spite rendering it - well, not unrecognizable. More familiar, perhaps, in a way that now unsettled Costis, reminding him as it did of caggi and scrambling to stay alive. 

"Well, if you can't stop yourself from gaping like a country boy, you might as well help."

And that was how Costis discovered that Kamet had no idea at all how to do the washing, and one of Costis' own tunics had been the main casualty of his ignorance.

-

Free of the King's pessimism, Costis practiced more advanced drills in the yard every morning. He drew a salary from the crown for 'services rendered', which lately meant making sure Kamet could not convince anyone in Roa to kill him, and of course sending back maps. He had to stay sharp.

It was always harder with anyone watching. Costis found, to his surprise, that Kamet's eyes had an effect on him that even the King's didn't. He stumbled and faltered a few times. If he had been sparring with the King he'd be dead ten times over by now.

"Do you always drop your sword like that?" Kamet said, after Costis glanced over to see him smiling at nothing and promptly lost his weapon.

"No. Sometimes. Stop it, would you." At least a practice sword would have made less noise when it fell, Costis thought. He wiped the yard dirt off his sword and resumed his stance.

"I'm just wondering. And I didn't know Attolians drilled with real swords. What if you cut your leg off? Who will haul our water then?"

"You, I suppose." He moved, focusing on his breathing.

"Your form looks off."

He stopped and looked over at Kamet again. Now Kamet gazed at him with intent, and a shiver went down his spine. "How?"

"You're...crooked. In the arm."

Costis looked at his very correctly bent elbow and then back at Kamet. Something sparked in him, understanding in its hazy infancy. Kamet did not know how to hold a sword; Kamet's primary forms of self defense were talking or running.

He should fix that.

"Thank you," he said, and moved forward with his drills.

-

Since he had his salary and he needed a practice sword anyway, he obtained a knife when he went to the blacksmith. It was nothing so expensive that a soldier couldn't afford it, probably lower quality than anything Kamet had worn or eaten or drunk or written with in the Mede empire, but it would cut someone bloody if they advanced, and so Costis brought it back to their cottage.

He thought about presenting it to Kamet as a proper gift, then thought about that wily, half-desperate look Kamet got when you surprised him with strange behavior. And so he put the knife in his outstretched hands and presented it to Kamet that way, saying, "I have a practice sword now, but I thought you could use this."

"Ah," Kamet said, and reached out with one delicate hand, lifting the knife like it might grow fangs and bite. "Charming. A barbaric gift from an Attolian barbarian."

Costis thought he meant it as a joke. But it was the kind of joke that cut, too, because he meant it truly as well. "I only thought," he said, "in a place strange for both of us, with you being the King's -"

"Don't," Kamet said, his voice sharper than his new workman's knife.

It had taken him a long time to learn how to handle someone who desperately needed care and demonstrated it by being as provoking as possible. But Costis had learned. He nodded and went outside: there were always weeds that needed pulling.

-

Costis did most of the cooking and a large part of the picking up. There were many jobs a soldier could do in a small village, and so he did those too, helping pull stumps and lift roof beams and such. Kamet sat in the cottage most days and wrote, page after page after page.

He must not have known how easily Costis could watch him: he sat by a window most of the time, and when Costis was in the yard, he could see those moments when Kamet stared into the distance in despair or frustration, or cursed the cheap paper he had to write on. He could afford nicer parchment, Costis thought, for his King - their King - did not shirk his duties with those under his protection. But instead Kamet used the cheap stuff.

It gave Costis an idea. The next time a merchant came through, he purchased a thick roll of nice paper. He didn't know how nice, but it cost him a lot and felt nice to touch: it must be better than what Kamet had now.

He didn't give it to Kamet directly this time. He left it on Kamet's desk one morning. When left to his own devices, Kamet had developed a tendency to sleep late, and so he didn't see the paper for the better part of the morning.

At lunch he sat down across from Costis, picked up the cheese and olives that Costis had arranged for him, and said, "You're a fool. Has no one told you?"

Careful, Costis told himself. "Many times, I think."

"You think?" Kamet's face, full of angles, twisted into something resembling mockery. "You're uncertain of when people have called you a fool?"

Costis judged it best not to answer.

"You can't buy my loyalty with trinkets."

"I'm not trying to buy anything."

Kamet scoffed. "Then what it is you think? Would you like to make the slavers' assumptions true? Shall I say thank you and fall to my knees while you lie to me about my beauty?"

Costis understood and that made the mocking worse. He knew that a gift of friendship to Kamet was a veiled threat, a liability. He knew that Kamet wanted friendship desperately and was uncertain how to hold it. 

And yet, he still found himself exhausted. Kamet did look beautiful. Costis wouldn't have needed to lie. "I don't want to do this," he said. "It's nice paper. I'm sure of that, at least. Use it as you will."

He spent the next several days out in the woods, coming home only very late, long after Kamet had gone to his own room and fallen asleep.

-

One day, Kamet had the fine wool and silk blanket the King had given him carefully folded on the end of his bed. The next day, it was gone. The day after that, a ring sat on Costis' kitchen stool, silver wrapped in gold threads, not particularly fine, but finer than any jewelry Costis had ever owned. It was feminine in shape, too, with the winding gold and thinness of the band. Economy, surely. One of the least Attolian rings Costis had seen this side of the Middle Sea, absolutely.

He looked at it and felt his throat close up. As an apology, it was eccentric and possibly in poor taste. Costis wasn't sure about that last bit. He was unsure about most things, with regards to Kamet.

He didn't see Kamet until late that night. As usual, long after Costis had made dinner, Kamet kept his back to the table and scribbled at his desk. The meat began to cool, and there was only a bit of it, so Costis picked up Kamet's plate and brought it over to him. He meant to set it down gracefully, but at the last moment he remembered that Kamet would see him wearing the ring this way. The plate clattered on the table and Costis retreated as quickly as he could.

But not quickly enough. "Is it comfortable?"

It fit as though it had been made specially for him. "Yes. You shouldn't have bought it, though. You sold your blanket; I'm sure the King will have something to say about that."

"I have no plans for him to know I sold it."

"He'll find out."

Kamet sighed. "Yes, of course. I'm sure you have lots to tell me about your King."

He was far, comically far, from the first person who had implied such things. Costis' devotion was well known, after all. But somehow, with Kamet's ring pressing into his skin, the implications angered him. "What will I tell others, then, about the ring I wear? Is it the King's ring, since it was purchased with his blanket?"

"I gave it to you!" 

Kamet didn't quite shout, but the cottage was small and his voice echoed in the empty space. Costis wanted to take a step back. He didn't.

Something began to coalesce for Costis. Kamet had treasured that blanket; he'd been rude about its design and the variable weather that necessitated such an item, but he'd displayed it constantly since, poking his toes out the side of his sheets rather than put it away for the summer. He had sold it to buy Costis an apology, but not any apology, not something he knew for certain that Costis would like. Instead he'd chosen something that many would see, even in Roa, as a declaration of intent.

Costis made his decision. He stepped forward. Kamet said, "What are you doing," but he didn't sound scared or angry, so Costis kissed him.

He was woefully out of practice. He worried he was too clumsy, his hands too rough. But when he moved suddenly, fingers pressing against Kamet's arms a little too hard, Kamet only moaned and pressed back: small, still not as strong, but fierce enough to bring Costis to his knees.

As soon as he thought of it he realized what a good idea it was. He fell to his knees, naturally and easily, and then looked up at Kamet for direction.

"Eternal gods," Kamet said, staring at him. 

It occurred to Costis to be embarrassed, and he blushed. "If this is not what you want -"

"It is," Kamet said, "oh, it is." He reached out, his hand shaking, and touched Costis' hair.

Costis allowed himself to close his eyes, only for a moment. He fixed the image in his mind: their cottage, Costis' woodworking and Kamet's writing all around them. Kamet, looming only because of the angle, touching Costis with intent and promise. The ground digging into Costis' knees, the breeze from the uncovered window raising goosebumps on both their arms.

He wet his lips. Kamet caught his breath, barely audible. Not just the breeze, then, Costis thought, and caught Kamet's hand in his.

He kissed Kamet's fingers, one by one. They were so slender, stained with ink and still trembling a bit. Costis thought of lying down for him, pulling him on top, letting him explore. It was almost too much. He had to close his eyes, to say, "You'd better -" and skim his fingers over the tunic Kamet wore.

Kamet huffed with false annoyance, as Costis had known he would. "Now I must do everything? They told me Attolians were lazy in bed, but I'd assumed it was unkind rumor."

"Thought about it a lot, have you?" 

He saw his mistake immediately. Kamet drew back a bit, not physically, but his eyes grew distant.

Ah, well. "I have. Thought about it. Wondered about it, about you." He found Kamet's hips through his clothes and pressed his thumbs down, holding him. There was his cock, thick and heavy, ready in spite of his nervousness. Costis moved slowly then, waiting for Kamet to pull his tunic off, stroking up and down his legs. His thighs had grown stronger, his stomach more muscled; Costis had only lifted him a few times before they'd reached Attolia, but he felt sure he'd known the shape of him from that very first day. Every change was strange and precious. 

"This is not -" Kamet huffed out a breath. "Fast."

Costis felt joy fizzing through his veins. "No," he said. "It won't be." He licked Kamet's belly, bit his hip. When Kamet made an indignant noise, Costis wrapped a hand around his cock, a strong grip, giving little warning.

"I don't make promises I can't keep." He bent further, licking and sucking, and he felt Kamet shudder and saw him lift his head towards their ceiling. Costis had thatched that roof and Kamet had purchased the rug next to their supper table. 

He was keeping a promise right now, he thought, working his hand, moaning when Kamet tugged his hair. He kept the promise in his grip on Kamet's hips, his noises of encouragement as Kamet came down his throat.

It was only when Kamet said, "Down, you lummox," that he realized he was dizzy with need, harder than he'd been in a long time. He let Kamet undress him, spread his legs for him. When Kamet said, "Does this unman you?" and sounded serious about it, Costis laughed and pulled him close, arching his back until there could be no question about his manhood.

Fingers in him, deep and strong. Kamet had a writer's economy of movement. He pressed in, watched Costis, adjusted, and did it again, until he'd found exactly where would make Costis moan and beg.

He did beg, long and loud. He couldn't help it. He said, "Please," and Kamet made that hissing noise of his, then said, "Say it again."

And so he did. It was rare with Kamet that Costis could find something that pleased him consistently, time after time. But when Costis said, "I need this, I need you, it's so good, please, Kamet, please give me more," Kamet gave him what he asked for, stroked him, kissed him, until finally he was coming in Kamet's fist with Kamet whispering his own name in his ear.

He thought it might be terrible after. Either of them had the capacity to make it so. But Kamet only looked around their cottage and said, "It seems very foolish to sleep in separate rooms. A waste of space, especially with all your specimens."

Costis couldn't defend his love of the strange rocks, odd insects, and other bits and bobs he found in Roa. If it would mean Kamet in his bed every night, he'd fill the front room with boulders. "Yes," he said. "It makes sense." When Kamet eyed him suspiciously, he added, "You're very smart."

"You're mocking me," Kamet said. But he kissed Costis, kissed him until they were both smiling, kissed him until Costis felt as though he could fly.

"Come to bed," Kamet said.

Costis obeyed.


End file.
